


Sugar and Spice

by LongGiraffeLady



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongGiraffeLady/pseuds/LongGiraffeLady
Summary: Jinyoung has two choices: either kiss him or tease him. He has no idea what he'd rather do.
Relationships: Kim Yugyeom/Park Jinyoung
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	Sugar and Spice

The forecast had warned of severe thunderstorms, but as Jinyoung struggles to shut the windows against the screeching winds and blinding rain, he can't help but think that maybe they should have used words like, ‘hellstorm’ if they had any regard for scientific accuracy. Noah himself would've been intimidated to be out in a storm like this.

Windows blessedly shut, clothes completely drenched, he leans against the windowsill as he looks outside and catches his breath. The sky above him has turned entirely black, and under the heavy cloud cover, day is almost indistinguishable from night. If he couldn't see the clock above the mantel himself, he would never believe that it was only late afternoon.

A draft of cold air hits him then, and he shivers as he hurries soggily to the washroom. Nothing like a scorching shower for this type of weather, and he waits impatiently as the way runs hot, and then hotter, and then hotter still, until he knows he'll be flushed and tingling when he comes out. Jinyoung smiles in anticipation as he steps into the shower and thunder rolls harmlessly above him.

Clouds of steam fill the room, seem to fill his mind, and he lets himself relax under the pounding water pressure, inch by pleasurable inch. His eyes slip closed and his mind wanders leisurely from anything to nothing and right back around.

He considers how days like this always have that strange tendency to feel like a Sunday. They feel like they're meant to be savoured; to waste a day like this on mundane chores would be an affront to the romance of the very world. To wit, Jinyoung resolves to dedicate the day to 'treating himself', as the kids at the library would say. There's a sense of apprehension at the thought of leaving the chores to pile up, but whimsy waits for no fool.

He considers the exorbitantly expensive tea he'd splurged on last Monday that, if the tin was to be believed, had been imported directly from Chile. Jinyoung hadn't even known that tea grew in Chile, and what a waste of 26 years, really.

He thinks of the fresh linens he'd laid out that morning and the way they make the whole room smell like his parents' house. The bed will be chilly, but oh how heavenly it'll feel if he runs his blankets through the dryer for just a couple of minutes before he settles in with a precious cup of tea. He has just the book to fall into, one he's been waiting for the right moment to start. A nap, a steak dinner and a glass of wine before bed - perfection.

He pictures himself then, tucked away in his cozy cottage, dry and content as the storm rages impotently around him, and he's not sure if the warmth that's settled in his chest is from the shower or the thought of his small, uneventful, wonderful little life.

~

It’s the banging at the door that wakes him up. He rouses slowly and reluctantly, caught in that mystical place between sleep and wakefulness where reality just doesn’t have the same draw it usually does. There’s another knock though, nearly drowned out by the sounds of the storm; Jinyoung almost misses it, could’ve mistaken it for just another peal of thunder, except for how this thunder has a distinctly wooden quality to it. 

He fumbles for his slippers and his robe before shuffling to the door. Bracing himself against the wind, he opens the door and is greeted by a very tall, very raincoat-clad back. 

The Back seems to have very broad shoulders, and the tiniest waist Jinyoung has ever seen on a Back. It also appears to be talking, to himself maybe, to someone else maybe, but certainly not to Jinyoung himself, he hopes.

“Shit,” the Back says, “shit shit shit shit.”

Jinyoung’s eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, is this some sort of prank?” he asks, because it’s the middle of the night, he’d been having a truly excellent dream involving a handsome stranger and free run of a Chilean tea plantation, and if he’s got to be awake right now surely nobody could reasonably expect him to be happy about it. 

The man - it’s difficult to tell through the excessive yellow of the raincoat, but Jinyoung’s fairly sure that the back is actually a man - spins around and the look of surprise on his face seems unwarranted considering that he's the one who knocked at Jinyoung’s door. But he collects himself quickly and rushes to explain himself, stuttering in his haste.

“I’m so- I’m so sorry to bother you,” he says. His hands are clenched nervously together and he shifts impatiently from foot to foot. The hood of the raincoat can’t quite cover his whole face, and as he shivers in front of Jinyoung, he’s reminded of a schoolboy, pink-cheeked and cherubic in his misfortune. “I’m sorry, but my car broke down and there’s no signal anywhere.” 

He seems to run out of steam then, which Jinyoung resents, because it’s not like _he_ knows what to do now, but then the other man sneezes, once, twice, almost reeling back under the force of it, and some vestigial part of Jinyoung that feels a lot like his mom has him stepping to the side and gesturing the tall stranger into his home. 

They stand together in the doorway in the type of silence usually reserved for elevators, and Jinyoung looks the other man over warily. 

Soaked, is his keen analysis. He notes with some cautious satisfaction that the stranger huddles to himself, taking pains to limit his dripping to the rubber mat Jinyoung has laid out. Perhaps someone who cares so adequately about proper drip etiquette is less likely to be a serial killer and murder Jinyoung in his own home. 

It’s to that ringing endorsement that Jinyoung breaks his silence. “So, car trouble, you said?”

The other man - Jinyoung should probably find out his name - jumps at the opening. “Yeah, there was a turn, and then I was skidding, and before I knew it I was already in a ditch.” 

Jinyoung’s nodding before he even finishes the story. “The turn just after the fork, right?” 

The stranger nods eagerly. Jinyoung knows the very turn, can easily see the scene play out in his mind’s eye. 

“I know the exact one. I told them to put up signs,” he mutters, almost to himself, “ I even wrote them an e-mail.” 

He looks up then. “There weren’t any signs, were there?” he asks knowingly and sighs when the stranger nods again. “Of course not. Nobody cares about a strongly worded e-mail anymore.”

The stranger doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and Jinyoung takes a moment to try to collect himself and consider what to do next, the reality that this man is in his home hitting him only then. He can feel the tension that had seemed to fade as they were talking ratchet higher and higher - can see in the stranger's face that he can feel it too. 

He hopes that he doesn't seem as flustered as he feels. "What's your name?" he blurts out.

"Yugyeom." the stranger - Yugyeom, apparently - answers. 

"Are you a serial killer, Yugyeom?" Jinyoung asks tersely, playing nervously with the buttons on his pyjama top. It may not be the most clever way to spot a serial killer, but he can't deny that there's still some slight relief when Yugyeom denies it, the smile evident even in just his voice. 

“I’m not, I promise.”

But if he'd been hoping that Yugyeom hadn't noticed his conflict, his hopes are dashed when the other man continues. "I'm sorry to make you so uncomfortable," he says soft as can be. "I swear I only came to see if I could borrow your phone."

His voice is pitched low and gentle, like Jinyoung's a spooked horse that needs to be gentled and it’s frustrating that that’s not entirely inaccurate.

The thing is, it’s an entirely reasonable request, but Jinyoung also lives in the middle of nowhere; the closest traffic light is 15 kilometers away, the closest gas station even further, and the closest police station twice that. Suffice to say that if he called in about an armed intruder, it would easiest for them to just start filing the paperwork for a murder then and there. 

But Yugyeom just sounds so sincere, so... pleasant. Besides, he’s already invited him in - in for a penny, in for a pound. 

He keeps his expression placid, not sure that he can manage a smile just yet, and curses himself for leaving his phone behind in his hurry. "My phone's just in my room. Wait here while I get it, please." 

He turns on his heel without waiting for a reply and rushes to his bedroom, feeling slightly less off-balance once he has his phone in hand. It feels too rude to leave a stranger alone in the other room for too long, but Jinyoung takes a precious few seconds to center himself before heading for the door. He hesitates as he passes the linen closet; the image of the young man dripping and sneezing, hair plastered against his forehead and cheeks ruddy from cold and wind runs through his mind again. That same maternal instinct from earlier has him reaching into the closet for a towel, a big fluffy one because that seems most appropriate for someone who, it occurs to Jinyoung, is probably having one of the worst days of his life. Considering carefully, he picks out his second favourite towel and marches back to where Yugyeom is waiting for him. 

The corridor opens up directly into the living room, and he watches as Yugyeom distractedly looks around as he dials the number, and tries to see it through his eyes. 

It's his favourite room, office and sitting room combined, and about 80 percent books and furniture. It's not a small space, not really, but the bookshelves on the walls are tall and commanding, and the darker wood and soft light make the room feel warm and lived in. 

It's an intimate space to be in with a stranger, and he realizes in a rush that they’re much closer than he'd realised. He hurriedly takes a step back and busies himself at his desk to give Yugyeom the suggestion of privacy.

His back is turned so it’s a belated realisation that the room is still silent a few minutes later, and when he turns around it’s Yugyeom’s horrified face that greets him.

“Nobody answered…” he whispers, wide-eyed. 

They've known each other for maybe seven minutes max, but Jinyoung can read Yugyeom's thoughts as clearly as if it'd been drafted in majuscule and stamped with his seal of approval: there's dismay and embarrassment, followed quickly by the slowly dawning realization of where that leaves them both. 

It's that damn social contract. Jinyoung can feel its noose tightening around them both.

The space between them feels so charged, electric with the most fundamentally uncomfortable tension he's ever felt. And there's a lost look in Yugyeom's eyes that has Jinyoung feeling the weight of responsibility that seems to come with having a phone, a house, and being in the same room as this man. 

He clears his throat and tries to speak delicately. "Maybe you should try again."

It's painful watching him fumble over the buttons as he redials, and they both wait with bated breath as the phone rings. The seconds between rings feel drawn out to infinity, and Jinyoung's hopes die a new death with each one.

The noose squeezes ever tighter.

The call goes to voicemail, the robotic voice audible in the otherwise silent room.

"It's cold out today, isn't it." Jinyoung says helplessly and Yugyeom flushes.

Jinyoung tries again. “Your car - it’s probably cold.” 

Yugyeom opens his mouth to speak but gives up halfway and hangs his head.

“Maybe…” Jinyoung hesitates, the words right on the tip of his tongue but he pulls them back before they can spill out. There are so many reasons to give him a blanket and send him back to his car - good, valid reasons that he could look back on in 100 years and not fault himself for considering. 

But there’s also the man in front of him and the way his broad frame folded in on itself self-consciously, like he wants to take up as little space as possible. Jinyoung studies him carefully and realizes that he’d been right in his first assessment on the doorstep - it really is a sweet face, doe-eyed and boyish. There’s an unreasonable amount of trust in those eyes.

Trust has always been hard-won for Jinyoung, both giving it and receiving it. To have it given so helplessly sparks a reciprocal release in him, like recognizing like. 

“Maybe you should stay here for the night?” He says, and the words blessedly don’t stick in his throat the way he’d thought they would. 

Yugyeom can’t even object, although the expression on his face says that he would dearly like to and Jinyoung’s heart softens just a little bit more.

“I’m so sorry,” Yugyeom mumbles. He’s looking at his feet, fingers twisted together, the very picture of regret. “I really thought they’d answer the phone.”

“It’s really fine,” and Jinyoung finds as he says it that it’s not untrue. “You did promise me you’re not a serial killer, after all,” he reminds him lightly.

Yugyeom's head whips up so abruptly that Jinyoung immediately knows he misspoke.

“I swear, that’s not why I’m here.” Yugyeom says, almost in tears. 

“No, no, I meant-” Jinyoung takes a step towards him, stumbling over his words in his haste to reassure him, “I just meant that it’s ok that you’re here. It’s really ok,” he finishes awkwardly. He stands there, hands held out entreatingly, and hating every decision that’s brought him to this point in his life. But Yugyeom cocks his head and considers him very carefuly for a moment before smiling tentatively.

“It’s very kind of you to let me stay,” he says.

Before the silence can get awkward _again_ , Jinyoung decides to head off that train of thought. “Why don’t you take a shower while I make some tea?” he suggests quickly. 

God save Jinyoung from social niceties and stilted conversation, and Yugyeom must agree because he nods decisively and follows along like a puppy as Jinyoung leads him down the hallway to the bathroom. 

“I’ll bring some clothes you can borrow,” he says as he pulls out an extra toothbrush from the cupboard and hands it to Yugyeom. “You can just leave your clothes there and I’ll throw them in the dryer after.” Finally satisfied that everything's where it needs to be, he glances up at Yugyeom's face, wanting to ask if he needs anything else but he's stopped in his tracks by the look on his face. He's sniffling wetly, his cheeks reddening in front of Jinyoung's very eyes, and Jinyoung hopes to god that he's just congested.

He starts to shuffle casually towards the freedom of the open door but hesitates in the doorway, that same voice in his head from before slowing his steps.

He reluctantly looks back. Really, he should've checked to see if he'd been injured as soon as he'd heard there was an accident. He knows there's a reservoir of calm inside him somewhere, and he draws from it now. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, as gently as he can manage.

"I am, thanks to you," Yugyeom says with a weak attempt at a smile that Jinyoung ignores.

"Are you bleeding anywhere?" He prods.

"I don't think so-"

"Did you hit your head?" 

"I don't think so," Yugyeom repeats thoughtfully, "but I guess I could've and just forgotten…" He pats at his head. Pat, pat, pat. Jinyoung watches dazedly; there’s really no way to tell what’s head trauma and what’s just his personality. 

When Yugyeom starts feeling himself up, he decides it's time to step in.

"Why don't you look yourself over while you're showering and I'll make some tea," he suggests, already edging out of the door, because he thinks Yugyeom might just keep rubbing at himself if he doesn't. 

Yugyeom pauses, hands on his chest, and looks at him carefully. 

"I forgot to ask," he says, and Jinyoung pauses mid-step, so close to freedom. "I'm so sorry, but what's your name?"

Maybe it's equally Jinyoung's own fault for not offering it up of his own accord, but he can't help but wonder what type of person just walks into the home of a stranger without even knowing their name. Yugyeom starts that rhythmic tapping against his chest again, and if Jinyoung didn’t know any better, he would think that he’s doing it to make noise. His movements are gawky - he’s gawky, like his arms grew first and the rest of him never caught all the way up - but somehow still graceful, even in the cramped space of Jinyoung’s tiny bathroom. 

"Jinyoung. I'm Park Jinyoung," he says, and Yugyeom smiles big and wide.

"It's nice to meet you, Park Jinyoung."

Jinyoung backs out carefully, and heads towards the kitchen. It’s strange - he’s certain he closed the door behind Yugyeom, but it feels like somehow, without him noticing, without his permission, the storm may have blown inside anyway.

~

The plan is fully formed before he even gets to the kitchen.

First things first: tea.

Next: research.

Finally: act.

Admittedly, it could be better. He puts the kettle on and starts up his laptop anyway, rushing to deposit a fresh pair of shorts and a shirt on the closed toilet before returning to the kitchen.

10 minutes of hasty research later, he's still not satisfied that Yugyeom isn't in some sort of mild but prolonged state of brain trauma, but at least the tea is almost ready.

He’d tried searching for results on the tapping, and any variation of the word that he could think of. Finally he types in ‘trauma-induced auto percussion’ without any success, and has to admit that he has run out of synonyms. But his search hasn’t been entirely fruitless; one website had finally yielded something that could be useful: “A Guide to Assessing Consciousness”, it claimed boldly. “How to Know if your Evening Will be Spent at the Hospital”. 

He wouldn’t be able to drive Yugyeom to the hospital tonight - curse that damn bottle of wine - but it wouldn’t do to be unprepared either. 

Besides, there may not have been an official rulebook that outlined the duties of a host under these specific circumstances, but Jinyoung thought that if ever one was written, it would very clearly state that a good host always investigates the potential of brain damage in any of their guests.

The kettle whistles and hearing Yugyeoms’s footsteps in the hallway like he’d been summoned, Jinyoung pours the tea before taking a seat at the table.

"Feel better?” he asks politely when Yugyeom rounds the corner.

Yugyeom nods and pulls out a chair for himself, and even to Jinyoung’s untrained eye he seems a little less fragile. “Much better, thank you,” he says with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used your shampoo.”

His shampoo and body wash, actually. The kitchen has smelled like sandalwood and strawberries ever since he arrived.

Jinyoung shakes his head. “It’s really fine. Just make yourself comfortable.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he defaults to the instructions from the website.

_Assess orientation: A fully oriented patient will be able to state the date, where they are, and who they are._

The “who” has been established at least, but he wishes the website had given him some sort of script to follow, because he can feel himself floundering and he’s barely started. Asking what the date is out of nowhere makes him seem like the one who needs his head checked, or worse, like a strange hermit who hasn’t been out in society for so long that he needs to be told what year he’s living in. 

“If I’m being honest, I’m glad you were able to find my house,” Jinyoung says instead, and he knows how insincere he must sound but Yugyeom doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I’m pretty lucky, I think,” he says - incorrectly, in Jinyoung’s opinion - “I was thinking that I should just stay in the car and wait for someone to drive by, but-” Jinyoung watches as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think a lot of people use that road, do they?”

“I hope you didn’t wait for too long,” he says in lieu of answering; it would be too mean to tell him that he would've been waiting there all night.

Yugyeom’s eyes are glued to the table’s surface and his laugh is self-deprecating, and Jinyoung feels like that’s answer enough except it’s not.

“Two hours,” Yugyeom says mildly. Jinyoung can’t imagine what his face must look like, but whatever Yugyeom sees there when he looks up has him changing his tone. “It’s ok though. I cracked the window for some fresh air,” he says, like that’s the problem.

“You waited in a car by yourself for two hours after crashing into a ditch?” Jinyoung asks, and he’s trying his best not to sound judgmental because it isn’t his place, but he can’t help but think of all the ways this night could have ended so much worse for the young man sitting in front of him. 

But he’s also here right now in Jinyoung’s kitchen, probably healthy and seemingly whole, and looking at him so shamefacedly that he feels guilty for mentioning any of it.

“I think you were right,” he mumbles, exactly and equally shamefaced.

“About what?” 

“You really are very lucky.”

The second before Yugyeom smiles feels almost like a prologue. Jinyoung hadn’t had anything to compare it to before, only realizes how tepid those other smiles were now that he’s seen this one. They weren’t fake, Jinyoung thinks, just polite, and he much prefers this. 

“Except for crashing my car in a ditch,” Yugyeom says easily.

“Except for crashing your car in a ditch,” Jinyoung agrees. They smile at each other across the table, in the peaceful warmth of Jinyoung’s kitchen. 

It's been a little while since he had someone sit with him in the kitchen like this. It's not… terrible. 

The tea was exactly as good as he'd remembered it, and Yugyeom’s hand is lying carelessly on the table like an afterthought, like he's finally relaxed enough to fill space. Jinyoung sees long fingers, slender and long, follows them up his arms, bare now in Jinyoung's own t-shirt. He shifts forward and Jinyoung sees inky shadow, and it's rude to stare, he knows, but somehow he can't seem to look away. He can't make out a distinct shape but it has him leaning in to try until he's pressed tight against the sharp edge of the table.

A gentle ahem has his gaze flying up to Yugyeom's face, and embarrassment and interest blur together messily when he sees that he's being watched through thick lashes. There's a smile tugging at rosy lips and for just one second the thought of the way they would part so easily under his flashes through his mind. 

But it’s quickly replaced with the memory of one particular phrase from a website he’d stumbled across not 10 minutes earlier.

_Patients experiencing trauma may show signs of altered decision-making and poor judgement._

Guilt trickles sickly and potent through his consciousness and has him pulling away and fumbling for a distraction.

"I'm glad you remembered to grab a raincoat," he blurts, all that yellow still fresh in his mind.

If Yugyeom's surprised by the abrupt change of topic, he doesn't show it. He sits back easily, slouches into the chair and crosses his arms. "The forecast said it was going to rain pretty hard today." He frowns, and it does interesting things to his eyes, casts shadows over them in a way Jinyoung hasn’t seen yet. "They could've been clearer about how hard it was going to rain though."

Jinyoung can't help but be pleased. _Vindication._

"I was a little worried an animal would see me in it though," Yugyeom continues, oblivious.

"What difference would it have made if an animal saw you?" Jinyoung asks, puzzled because he's pretty sure the apex predator in the area is an old, bad-tempered rabbit.

Yugyeom ducks his head. "You know..." he mumbles.

Jinyoung's interested despite himself. "I really don't."

"It's just- I've heard that there are animals in these woods," Yugyeom says, peeking up at Jinyoung. "I was worried one would chase me."

Jinyoung tries, god help him he tries to understand why a rabbit would chase a man for his raincoat. 

"...because they want your raincoat?" 

Yugyeom seems confused by his confusion. "Because they're attracted by the bright colour," he says like it's obvious, and Jinyoung realizes to his delight that Yugyeom seems to have mistaken Jinyoung's little patch of forest for the Amazon rainforest.

"There are only rabbits in these woods," he teases gently. "I'm sure that if it came to a fight, you would win."

Under the bright kitchen lights, Jinyoung can see how fair the other man is, how the green of his borrowed t-shirt makes his flush seem deeper than before.

"I heard there are lots of mountain lions too…" Yugyeom defends. 

Jinyoung actually snorts. "There aren't even any mountains within 50 kilometers of here," he points out, and of course he knows that mountain lions don't need to live in the mountains, but that's not the point anymore.

"Mountain lions don't always live in mountains, hyung," Yugyeom says, flustered but determined, and Jinyoung can't help himself; he should be getting Yugyeom comfortable for the night, but riling him up is just so much more fun.

"Hyung?"

"Oh. I just assumed-" Yugyeom stutters out.

"Are you saying I look old?" Jinyoung asks, and gets a vehement head shake. 

"Is it my wrinkles?" He prompts. 

"You don't have any wrinkles!"

"But there must've been a reason you thought I was older than you?" He pushes, and it takes a concentrated effort to suppress the smile that's threatening to slip out and give him away. "Is it my personality?"

Yugyeom leaps at the opening. "Yes! You have a very mature personality." And then hesitates, clearly struggling for words. 

Jinyoung feels a burst of impatience that he can't quite tamp down, and busies himself wiping at nonexistent spills on the tablecloth. 

Because suddenly, despite himself, he's the one on tenterhooks, wondering if, in his excitement, he'd pushed too hard at something too new. He feels a pinch of uncertainty, sharp and right on time, and he opens his mouth to apologize, clear the air, something, when Yugyeom speaks. 

"If you want-” What Jinyoung wants is to rewind time to two minutes ago, back to before he'd run his mouth. Somehow he doesn't think Yugyeom can make that happen. "If you want, you can call me hyung."

Jinyoung's head jerks up so fast his neck twinges. He ignores it. Yugyeom’s watching him closely, expression entirely unreadable, but Jinyoung can’t shake the feeling that if he knew him just a little better, even this non-expression would be entirely revealing.

“I think,” he starts tentatively, hoping that he isn’t shoving his foot even deeper down his own throat, “that that would be a crime against the Korean language.”

Yugyeom’s laugh bursts out of him like he wasn’t expecting it. “Are you implying that I can’t speak Korean, hyung?” he asks cheekily.

Jinyoung pretends he can’t hear him. “Would you like some more tea?” Jinyoung asks, and is pleased when Yugyeom laughs.

“Yes, please.” Jinyoung pours, and Yugyeom takes a long sip.

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried tea like this before,” he says appreciatively. 

“It’s from Chile,” Jinyoung divulges casually, the way he thinks a global tea connoisseur would.

Yugyeom looks impressed as he takes another sip. “I didn’t know they grew tea there,” he says from the bottom of his mug, and Jinyoung preens. 

He watches Yugyeom inhale the rest and turn longingly to the empty pot.

It’s only then that Jinyoung realises with dawning horror that he hasn’t even offered him anything to eat. 

“Are you hung-” 

“Yes,” Yugyeom exclaims, before catching himself. “Sorry, please finish what you were saying.”

Jinyoung’s amused despite himself. “I was asking you if you were hungry.”

If he couldn’t see the way Yugyeom licks his lips at just the suggestion of food, Jinyoung might have fallen for the show of nonchalance he puts on. “I usually have a snack around now, but it’s really not a big deal,” he says, slouching deeper in his seat. 

Jinyoung sees right through him. “Are you hungry?” he repeats patiently. 

“You’ve already done so much - I’d hate to give you more work…” Yugyeom says and his eyes are smiling even as his lips are turned down dramatically at the corners, and Jinyoung really wants nothing more than to feed him until he’s stuffed and smiling again.

“It sounds to me,” Jinyoung says precisely, each syllable of each word almost tangible, “like you’re hungry.” 

Yugyeom hesitates, yearning warring with the dread of being an inconvenience. In the back of his mind, Jinyoung’s aware that he’s watching with far more apprehension than the situation warrants.

The look on Yugyeom’s face when he gives in is priceless. Jinyoung does not laugh.

“You’re not putting me out,” he promises, already considering what he can offer his guest. He heads to the fridge and does a quick inventory of what he has on hand. It is… not a long list. 

“So,” he begins, too embarrassed to leave the meager shelter of the fridge, “ how do you feel about eggs?”

Yugyeom has a very distinctive laugh, he realizes. “Eggs are great.” There are footsteps then, and when Jinyoung looks up, Yugyeom’s delightfully close, just one fridge door away. “How about I cook?” he suggests, and Jinyoung's instinct is to protest - he has everything arranged in his kitchen just the way he likes, and it’ll be faster if he just does it himself. But then he remembers the way Yugyeom had considered not eating to avoid burdening him, and it doesn’t feel like it costs him very much when he wordlessly gestures to his kitchen and retakes his seat.

It’s strange, Jinyoung observes, the way Yugyeom moves. He slouches and straightens; one moment, he’s hunched awkwardly over the stove, and then he’s flittering from cupboard to cupboard, gathering salt and oil, before digging through the crisper and dancing back to the island counter with an armful of vegetables.

"Do you cook often?" Jinyoung asks, because it feels like he's just staring in silence at the tattoo that he can now see clearly, and even if Yugyeom's back is to him, that's probably rude. 

Yugyeom starts chopping onions. "Not very often, but I've been getting into it a lot more recently," he answers, just as he fumbles an onion half into the sink. Jinyoung raises an eyebrow that he hopes Yugyeom can see in the reflection of a ladle or something. "I think I've gotten much better," he continues. 

"This is-" Jinyoung wonders if he heard wrong. "This is better?"

Yugyeom just chuckles as he pulls out a bigger knife from the knife block. Jinyoung doesn't think the knife was the problem, but Yugyeom starts to slice busily. Jinyoung's forehead is starting to cramp.

"I think you're missing an ingredient," he observes, because dinner's on the line and he doesn't have time for something like the benefit of the doubt.

Yugyeom doesn't even bother looking up. "I think I've got it all though?" 

"Omelettes have eggs in them, usually," Jinyoung says, dry as dirt.

His guest still doesn't look up, but he's stopped chopping. Jinyoung knows to look now, and he watches as that damned blush washes up the long line of the back of his neck. Even his triceps are pink, all around the edges of the tattoo. "Eggs, huh?"

"Yup."

"Would you believe me if I said I was trying a new style of omelette?"

"Nope."

"It's vegan."

"Don't care."

Yugyeom sighs. "My brother usually cooks."

"Do you want me to-"

"No!" Yugyeom turns around then, face so terribly earnest. Jinyoung can read the writing on the wall already. " Please let me cook for you! I'm so grateful, and this is the least I can do. Please?" he pleads. To say no would be morally equivalent to kicking three puppies and then stealing Christmas, probably. He might go to hell. So for the sake of his very soul, surely he must allow it, or risk eternal damnation. 

And it's really not a hardship to allow a handsome stranger cook for you, especially when he probably doesn't even have any brain damage.

"Just don't forget to pour some oil over the pan before you pour in the egg, ok? It's my favorite pan," he 

"You're so impressive - you even have a favorite pan," Yugyeom marvels.

 _That's him_ , he thinks wryly. _\- Park Jinyoung, Culinary Genius._

"I bet you're an amazing cook." It's a big assumption to make based on an off-hand comment about oil, and Jinyoung listens hard but he can't hear any hint of insincerity and it makes him feel a little shy in a way he hasn't since he was sitting at the table with Yugyeom earlier, and then since months before then.

He tries to refocus the conversation. "Maybe we should try baking some muffins instead?" Jinyoung tries, because actually he does want to be able to eat tonight. But also because he can imagine how disappointed Yugyeom would be to try a bite and find that he'd fed Jinyoung something inedible. 

"Oh, I'm not a very good baker," Yugyeom admits easily, and with the way he's dumping salt haphazardly into the egg mixture, Jinyoung believes him. Well, hopefully Yugyeom's palette has already adapted to his cooking style. 

Yugyeom chats as he whisks the ingredients together. "I bet you can't guess what happened the last time I tried to bake banana bread ." 

Jinyoung tries to think of the silliest thing that could happen to a novice banana bread baker. "Did you forget the bananas?"

Yugyeom sniffs haughtily. "As a matter of fact," he says, lips twitching, "I forgot the eggs." And immediately bursts into laughter. It’s hard not to smile with him; Jinyoung doesn’t remember ever being that carefree, but watching Yugyeom now, he feels himself getting tugged in, gently, like walking waist-deep into warm water. He wants to go in deeper.

Because he can’t get that moment at the table out of his head, can’t stop imagining how it would’ve gone if he had let himself fall into Yugyeom the way he’d wanted to. And Yugyeom had wanted it too, he’s sure. He thinks Yugyeom would be soft, would go soft beneath his mouth, let him hold him down and find out if he tastes as good as he smells. 

Yugyeom has turned back to the stove, and Jinyoung wonders what expression he would see on his face if he turned around just then. The thought of tucking his face into Yugyeom's neck seems much more appealing than finding out. Maybe he would squirm under the scrape of Jinyoung's stubble. His footsteps are noiseless as he slips out of his seat, his head buzzing with images, flashes of pink and soft and sweet. God, he wants to kiss him. 

A peal of thunder rolls through the room, and in hindsight, seems almost prophetic. Certainly it's causative; it shatters the silence, and then there's a yelp followed by the harsh clatter of metal on metal. 

"Yugyeom - the pan - Yugyeom," Jinyoung yelps, monosyllabic with concern, all thoughts of kissing flying out the window as he rushes the two steps left to Yugyeom's side.

Miraculously, there was only minimal mess, but Yugyeom's crouched on the floor, hand cradled gingerly against his body. 

This might possibly be the most stressful night of Jinyoung's life. He crouches beside Yugyeom, crowds him a little to let him know he's there. "Are you alright? What happened? Where's it hurt?" he interrogates. 

Yugyeom's features are pulled tight in a grimace, forehead scrunched in pain. "I burned myself," he grits out between clenched teeth. "Hyung, it hurts."

Jinyoung reaches for his hand carefully, and there's a sick trill of satisfaction when Yugyeom let's him take it. He keeps his touch soft, but he can see the red impression of the pan standing out in stark relief against Yugyeom's skin. 

"I don't see any blisters, which is good," he says.

"Doesn't feel good," Yugyeom mumbles wetly beside him, and Jinyoung chuckles. With one hand holding his arm close, he ruffles Yugyeom's hair with the other.

"Don't worry, Yugyeom-ah, I'll take care of you," he says lightly. " Let's get you cleaned up, hmm?"

He stands them both up, and holds Yugyeom's hand under the tap for a few minutes before pulling him gently to the table. Flopping down in his chair, Yugyeom lets out a moan when his burned hand brushes against the wood. He collapses against the table, and Jinyoung let's him wait there while he hurries to get the first aid kit he keeps in the bathroom.

That same scene greets him when he gets back and his heart squeezes. He doesn't know how to comfort him properly, so he does the best he can and rubs Yugyeom's back as he awkwardly applies the ointment with his other hand. 

Even in the short time they'd been together, Jinyoung had gotten used to Yugyeom's unrelenting good cheer and it's absence has his chest aching.

Yugyeom's just so sad, and Jinyoung's a sucker, always has been. So he rushes to cheer him up in the first way he can think of.

"I thought you might be a serial killer when you first knocked on my door, did you know that?" he asks, and it's a little rough maybe, but it gets Yugyeom talking again.

"I thought maybe you did, but I was sure when you asked me, to my face, whether I was a serial killer." And even from where his face is planted in the table, Jinyoung can hear the disbelief in his voice.

"You can't blame me for wanting to know." Yugyeom's snort is amplified by the wood of the table.

He perks up a bit though, and sits up to look at Jinyoung. "But do you know what's funny, hyung?" He doesn't even give Jinyoung a chance to answer, just barrels on, "At first, _I_ was scared that _you_ were a serial killer," and they stare at each other for a second before collapsing in laughter. It's just so silly. "I almost didn't knock on your door." Yugyeom says when they're both catching their breaths, eyes wet and stomach hurting, " I was just going to try to find the closest store." And that has Jinyoung breaking down again.

"The next store's miles away," he chokes, "you would've died in the storm." 

"I'm glad I came here though," Yugyeom tells him when he settles down. "Although I wasn't so sure when you first let me in."

Jinyoung's only half paying attention; he'd seen a bandaid in the little box and is currently struggling to get it wrapped around the fleshy part of Yugyeom's palm with little success. "Why's that?" he wonders absently.

Yugyeom chuckles, "You were grinding your teeth, hyung! It was so scary, I almost went back out into the rain again." 

Jinyoung looks up, the band-aid finally in place.

"I don't grind my teeth."

"You do, hyung, you really do," Yugyeom laughs and Jinyoung lets him have it, because his laugh is pretty and a relief to hear.

 _What a nice way,_ he thinks, _for the night to end_.

So despite the little voice in his head telling him to enjoy the night with Yugyeom for a little bit longer, there's a larger part of him, the part of him that always seems to wake up at the most inconvenient times, that tells him not to ruin a good thing.

"You've had such a long day - maybe we should go to bed," he suggests abruplty, and cringes as Yugyeom checks the time.

He wonders how he should interpret the way Yugyeom visibly deflates when he finds the clock face that read 4:13AM; would it be too arrogant to think that he's not the only one who doesn't want the night to end?

"I guess it is kinda late," Yugyeom says reluctantly and then doesn't move. Jinyoung doesn't either. It reminds Jinyoung of when he was a kid at the park and his parents came to pick him up; it's always felt like a freefall from excess to not enough. That's how he feels right now, and it's his own fault.

Neither man has moved. The clock reads 4:16AM. Jinyoung's starting to consider putting his head on the table, just to close his eyes, when Yugyeom speaks: "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep with all this thunder."

Which is fair, but not really relevant to all the nothing they had just been talking about.

"Ok…" Jinyoung says, unsure.

"And it's been a very difficult night for me," Yugyeom continues.

Jinyoung softens then, and reaches over to rub his back again. "I know."

"I think I would sleep better with you." Yugyeom says and while Jinyoung tries to stop himself from choking on his own goddamned tongue, gets up and heads towards the bathroom. 

"You don't snore, do you, hyung?" he calls back over his shoulder.

Jinyoung certainly does not snore, and he chases after Yugyeom to tell him so, but when he turns into the bathroom, he's distracted by Yugyeom's pert little bottom on display through thin pyjamas as he searches through the cupboards under the sink for-

"Do you have any extra toothbrushes, hyung?"

Jinyoung wordlessly reaches into a drawer - that judging by the disorder he sees there has already been ransacked by somebody - to pull out a toothbrush.

He gets a breezy _thanks, hyung,_ in response, and then he's being pushed out of the bathroom. 

_Perhaps_ , he thinks, staring at his own bathroom door in a daze, _this would be a good time to reflect on my mistakes_.

But even as he thinks it, he knows that letting Yugyeom in wasn't a mistake at all. Actually, it's not that hard to admit that Yugyeom showing up, drenched and terrified, apparently, at his door is probably the best thing that's happened to him in a little while.

He knocks on the door. 

It swings open to reveal Yugyeom's frothy face - _your face wash is so amazing, hyung_ \- and Jinyoung nudges him to the side as he walks in. "Let's just brush together," he says faux-casually, and it's not a question or a statement, really it's some indiscernible mix of the two, and so horribly awkward that he just wants to sink into the ground, but Yugyeom nods so happily that it stops mattering even before it started. 

They brush and spit and gargle together, and Jinyoung restricts himself to only laughing at Yugyeom's gargling face a little bit, before heading to bed together.

"You really don't mind me sleeping here?" Yugyeom asks, 10 minutes later when they're under the covers and it's definitely too late for Jinyoung to kick him out, and he giggles when Jinyoung tells him as much.

"I was right, you really are impressive," he laughs, and they'd left the little lamp on in the corner of the room, so Jinyoung sees it when he turns serious.

"Jinyoung-ah, did I ruin your night when I came here?" he asks, and Jinyoung's not sure how to tell him how much he didn't ruin his night without spilling out too much of himself, so he avoids answering.

"So I'm Jinyoung-ah now, huh?" he teases instead, and Yugyeom blushes.

"I'm trying to be serious, ok?" he huffs, pushing at Jinyoung's arm where it lies beside him in the bed.

Jinyoung ignores him easily. "Tired of calling me hyung already, huh? I'll always - " but they never find out what he “would always”, because at that moment, Yugyeom just slides his hand down Jinyoung's arm until he's holding his hand as he shifts a little closer, and the words die in Jinyoung's mouth. 

"Tell me, please, hyung?" Yugyeom asks sweetly.

It’s hard not to give in when he’s so cute. “You didn’t ruin my night.”

“And you're happy I came tonight?”

“And I’m happy you came tonight.”

“And you want to kiss me?” 

"And I want to-" Jinyoung begins, and almost bites his tongue trying to stop himself from finishing that sentence. His gaze flies to Yugyeom, who smiles at him tranquilly, eyes alight with mischief and longing, and it's very clearly permission for him to do exactly that. 

Jinyoung swallows heavily. He doesn’t know when Yugyeom figured it out, but it doesn’t matter - there’s no way it’s going to happen. 

But he doesn’t want Yugyeom to think that he’s not wanted when exactly the opposite is true. “Yes,” he says between dry lips.

“Why haven’t you, then?” Yugyeom asks, and he doesn’t look unhappy, just curious.

“You said you might’ve hit your head.”

“I didn’t say that,” Yugyeom protests.

Technically, no, but - “You definitely implied it.”

“I said that it wasn’t impossible.”

“Exactly.” And that should be the end of it, except it’s not, because Yugyeom never seems to do what Jinyoung expects him to do. So when he pulls Jinyoung’s hand over to rest on his stomach, saying, “Your hand’s so warm, hyung,” Jinyoung probably shouldn’t be as surprised as he is.

“You crazy bastard,” he says under his breath, not pulling his hand away even a little bit, and Yugyeom just laughs and laughs.

An easy silence settles over them, and it’s almost 5AM now, but Jinyoung has never been more awake in his life. He should roll over and go to sleep, but he can't seem to find it in himself to move his hand from where it's resting unmoving on the curve of Yugyeom's belly. Distantly, he's aware of the thud of his heartbeat against his palm as it starts to race, probably realises it before Yugyeom, himself, and he knows exactly what Yugyeom’s going to say before the words pass his lips.

"Does that mean you can't kiss me?” he asks, and it sounds like he’s going for casual but the effect is ruined by the way Jinyoung can feel how his body is vibrating under his hand.

He groans, pained, "I can't. It wouldn't be right. The website said - _implied_ \- that I shouldn't"

"What if," Yugyeom whispers, "I asked you really nicely? Would you kiss me then?"

Jinyoung doesn't say anything.

"I can be really nice when I want to be."

"Yugyeom," he chokes out.

"Please," Yugyeom breathes, "please kiss me," and Jinyoung shifts incrementally closer to press his nose to Yugyeom's jaw, his neck, like that'll satiate him. It's like he's being drawn into Yugyeom, into the heat and warmth and vibrancy of him.

But Yugyeom shifts back, settles into the bed, ethereal and indulged, like he knows Jinyoung will follow. The space between them feels airless, a vacuum that sucks Jinyoung deeper into the cradle of his thighs. Giving into him would be a mistake, but to not touch him feels impossible. 

And Yugyeom _likes_ it; Jinyoung can see it on his face. He wants to be kissed as much as Jinyoung wants to kiss him. He wants Jinyoung mad and panting, until the second he capitulates and their lips touch. Jinyoung knows that, but it also doesn't change the fact that it's completely working. He feels coaxed and teased and pushed, knows that Yugyeom will keep it up for however long it takes to get him to give in, and the thought of being wanted like that is electrifying.

Every word of Yugyeom's is a puff of air against Jinyoung's ear. "That wasn't a kiss, hyung," he sighs, as if deeply disappointed by Jinyoung's inability to follow such a basic request. 

But Jinyoung isn't in the mood to listen; he's found the trail of that scent that had been distracting him all night - his body wash on Yugyeom's skin. It leads him deeper into Yugyeom's body, down his chest, his abdomen, Jinyoung's own personal descent into madness.

Ever since Yugyeom had arrived at his door, there's been a tension pressing in on him. It had shifted from form to form throughout the night, but it had always been there, and Jinyoung's finally found relief there on his knees between Yugyeom's legs. With Yugyeom stretched out in front of him, his mind is finally, blissfully, empty.

It's Yugyeom's hand in his hair that pulls him back to rationality, and he groans as he presses his forehead into the soft give of his tummy.

He can't kiss him, won't kiss him. Instead he runs his hands over the long, slim body laid out like a prize in front of him tries to impress upon him how much he wants him. He strokes over Yugyeom's sides and dips his fingers underneath the t-shirt - his t-shirt, _god_ \- on the up stroke. And Yugyeom wriggles under his touches, drags himself down the bed and Jinyoung lets his own movement force the fabric up until it's tucked under his armpits. But before he has the presence of mind to do anything about the smooth untouched skin in front of him, Yugyeom's tangling their legs together and rolling, and Jinyoung finds himself breathless and trapped underneath him. 

It's not fair, Jinyoung thinks - while he still can think - the things that come out of Yugyeom's mouth. "I know you can't kiss me, but is there any reason why I cant kiss you?" He rubs his nose playfully along Jinyoung's jaw, and Jinyoung goes limp underneath him; he couldn't move if he wanted to. Jinyoung lies beneath him and aches. 

The weight on his chest increases. He's caught between the bed and Yugyeom, and it's so good, he can't help but drag his hands up the back of Yugyeom's thighs until the rest right at the crease of his ass - barely touching where they both want him to be, but already so much.

Yugyeom just groans and rides the motion, drags his half-hard cock up Jinyoung's thigh. "You have to say I can. I won't until you say it."

Jinyoung will say yes when hell freezes over. 

"Just a little kiss," Yugyeom promises, voice gone sweet as pie as he grinds a little closer, and hell seems colder already. "I think it's the only thing that could make me feel better after the terrible day I've had." 

"Why're you doing this to me?" Jinyoung asks, honestly bewildered and so fucking hard.

"You don't like it?"

Jinyoung chokes on a scoff as Yugyeom leans back to catch his eye. That's not the problem and they both know it. 

"I can't - I can't kiss you," he groans.

Yugyeom's smile signals trouble - Jinyoung fucking loves it. 

"Say you want it."

"What?"

"I said, say you want it," he repeats, and he's such a goddamn brat about it, Jinyoung breaks, a little. It didn't even take that long.

But he still has some sense of morality, maybe, because he does manage to ask, "are you sure?"

"Hyung," and Yugyeom is whispering into Jinyoung's ear, almost moaning, and Jinyoung thinks he licks his ear a little bit too so he loses track of some of what's said, but the gist of it seems to be:" I'm sure I didn't hit my head. I'm ok, I promise. But I've wanted to kiss you ever since you opened the door for me, and I'm not gonna go to sleep until you let me, ok?" 

He's such a fucking brat, Jinyoung can't stand it. It's too fucking much. He grabs Yugyeom's arms, dislodging them from where they're resting on his chest and starts to roll, but Yugyeom clenches his thighs around his legs and resists, laughing. But Jinyoung's stronger, and he doesn't need to wait anymore. Yugyeom never sees it coming - in a second he's on his back and under Jinyoung again, just the way it should've been from the start.

"Are you having fun?" he grits out, and it's so lovely watching Yugyeom squirm between his thighs.

"Plenty," he snarks, which - no.

"So you'd be ok with it if I go and sleep in the living room now?" 

Yugyeom's already shaking his head before he even finishes his sentence. "No, no, don't go," he whimpers as he tries to wrap his legs around Jinyoung's thighs,

Jinyoung watches him for a moment, lets him simmer before he takes mercy on him. "Do you still want me to kiss you?"

"Yes!" It's said so fervently, Jinyoung can't help but smile, somehow so enchanted by the man under him.

"If you want me to kiss you so badly, then ask me nicely," he coos.

"Please kiss me," Yugyeom says quickly, easily, but Jinyoung wants more than that.

"You know that's not what I mean," he says, and sees the moment when Yugyeom gets its. His eyes widen, and then his whole body goes slack - Jinyoung can feel it.

When he speaks, his voice is so sweet, so pleading, not a trace of attitude left. "Please, hyung, please kiss me."

And there's no reason not to anymore, so he does. 

It's soft and wet, and when Jinyoung presses his thumb against Yugyeom's chin, he opens for him eagerly. They take their time with it, and Jinyoung only draws back when Yugyeom is pink and gasping.

"Happy?" he asks through a smile.

"Very," Yugyeom says as he tugs Jinyoung back down, but he resists.

"That's all for tonight-" Yugyeom tries to interrupt, but Jinyoung shakes him gently and speaks when he goes silent. "Even if you didn't hit your head, you've had a long day." He leans back to savour Yugyeom's dissapointed face before adding, "And I'll still be here in the morning."

And Yugyeom's eyes are half-closing already, so he slides to the side and tucks him against himself so they can finally, _finally_ go to sleep.

But first, there's still one question on Jinyoung's mind: "You were so nice when you came here - what _happened_?" he asks, tired, but not too tired to tease.

Yugyeom just smiles at him, smug and sweet. "I really wanted that kiss."


End file.
